


Blood and Wine

by NinjaSniperKitty



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: 400+-year-olds attempting to talk about their feelings, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Curse of Strahd, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Dubcon in that Vasili von Holtz is Strahd in disguise, Facials, Foursome, Hand Jobs, Immortality makes you a kinky mf, Inappropriate uses of mage hand and hold person, M/M, Rahadin has an obvious crush on Strahd, Rough Oral Sex, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaSniperKitty/pseuds/NinjaSniperKitty
Summary: Strahd is particularly observant. He's noticed the not-so-subtle ways Rahadin's eyes linger on him when the dusk elf thinks he's not paying attention (he's always paying attention,) and the way his pulse quickens when at the receiving end of his rare praise. And Strahd, ever a lover of exotic and beautiful things, is very much interested.





	1. Chapter 1

His lord had been in a particularly foul mood upon returning to Ravenloft. Rahadin could feel it in the air he gave off, slamming doors and briskly walking from room to room without direction. His face was contorted into a scowl as he paced, his sharp eyes focused on the stone floors of the castle in front of him. Rahadin knew well enough to stay out of his lord’s way when he was deep in thought and knew to stay even farther away when he was in a sour mood. It was because of this self-preservation that Rahadin had enjoyed such a long life, he liked to think.

Rahadin finds Strahd on the mezzanine an hour later. He's sitting at a small table with his back turned to him. Not wanting to test whether or not his temper has died down yet, Rahadin quickly and quietly turns around to go back the way he came.

“Rahadin,” Strahd calls out in a clear voice.

A foolish idea to think that he could slip away without being noticed, he thinks bitterly. Rahadin tries to hide the wince on his face as he turns around. His hands are laced behind his back. “Yes, my lord?”

“Join me.”

Not one to disobey, he tentatively walks over to him. Strahd has a half-empty glass of wine delicately balanced between two fingers. His black cloak is discarded onto the back of his chair, leaving him in a red vest and white undershirt—a casual look for him. For once, he's not wearing the Von Zarovich ruby clasped around his neck. The pale swath of his neck is exposed and Rahadin does his best to not let his eyes linger there for too long. Strahd doesn't acknowledge him for several moments—it feels like an eternity to Rahadin—before he finally glances up at the dusk elf. There is a distant look in his unnaturally dark eyes.

“Drink,” Strahd demands. He gestures to the silver pitcher sitting on the table and goes to knock back the rest of his glass. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing the pitcher, obviously dissatisfied with Rahadin’s lack of action, and pours another two cups.

Rahadin eyes the cup that is shoved at him with skepticism. Wine had never been his drink of choice; it tasted like rotten grapes and was never potent enough for him to feel anything in the time that he typically set aside for drinking. He lifts his eyes back to Strahd. “Is everything alright, my lord?”

He brushes the question off. “You wouldn't dare disappoint me, would you? _Drink._ ” His tone sounds jesting, but the vampire has a dark look in his eyes that quickly makes the dusk elf sit down.

Not one to disappoint his master, he wraps delicate fingers around the base of the glass and brings his lips to its rim. He can see over the rim of the cup that Strahd’s eyes are glued to him. Rahadin takes a sip and places the glass back down, trying not to grimace at the acrid taste on his tongue.

Strahd drops his eyes, focuses on something unseen on the mahogany table. “She was right there, Rahadin.”

He doesn't need to ask who.

“I could have reached out and touched her she was so close. Could have swept her up and brought her to Ravenloft where she belongs. But those damn travelers—” Strahd slams his hand down on the table. The wine in his glass threatens to slosh out from the force. “They're going to make things difficult. I never should have let things get this far!” His voice is taut with barely restrained anger.

Rahadin tightens his grip on his glass and lifts it up off the table slightly. The table is centuries old—an antique. It'd be a shame to see it become stained. He lifts the vase up, as well, and pretends as if he's about to pour more into his still full glass. If Strahd notices that he doesn't actually pour from it, he doesn't say anything. Instead, Strahd clenches his first on the table, glances around as if looking for something, and settles on switching the hand he's holding his wine in instead. Strahd downs his drink in large gulps—so unlike his usual restrained behavior when it came to drinking—and Rahadin’s eyes linger just a little too long on the way Strahd’s Adam's apple bobs in his throat with each swallow. A bad habit he’s been indulging in far too often as of late. He quickly averts his gaze again once Strahd places the now drained cup back onto the table.

“Rahadin,” Strahd drawls. His dark eyes flicker up to his face and the corners of his wine-stained lips lift into a small smirk. “My faithful servant. How long have we known each other now?”

He has to think for a few moments. “Centuries, my lord.” Long before he'd been given the gift of immortality.

“That long...” Strahd pauses and makes a thoughtful noise. His eyes are still glued to his face, judging his reaction.

He feels small under his gaze.

“Why is it that we've been in each other’s company for this long but have never once been intimate?”

His eyes go wide and he can feel the tips of his ears start to burn. “S-Sir?” he stutters. Surely he can't mean—not with him… The glass in his hand threatens to slip out.

Strahd must have found his reaction amusing, because he chuckles lightly. “Don't think I haven't noticed your lingering eyes, Rahadin, or the way you find convenient excuses to enter my bed chamber when I'm dressing.” He stands up from his seat, tall and imposing, and Rahadin has to resist the urge to wither under his gaze. The vampire closes the space between them. “ ‘ _Sir, I believe I left the water pitcher in here last night. Sir, I thought I'd remind you of the festival happening in Krezk in a week’s time.’ ”_

Strahd is mocking him, Rahadin realizes, and it makes his ears flush all the warmer. “I mean nothing by it, my lord. I’m only trying my best to serve you—”

“I only wish you had been more forward with your advances.” Strahd tucks a piece of long hair behind the dusk elf’s ear and there's a look of what he would, if it wouldn't be so foolish, almost describe as fondness on his face. “You're quite the sight yourself, my friend. Exotic. I’d be lying if I said I had never thought about what a dusk elf’s mouth around my cock would feel like.”

For once in his life, Rahadin is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth, just trying to think of something, anything, to say. No words come, though, and he is left gaping at him. Finally, he clears his throat. “You've been drinking, sir,” Rahadin says, as if he didn't already know what Strahd’s reply would be.

On cue, Strahd raises a dark eyebrow and retorts, “A very astute observation. I knew there was a reason I picked you to be my second in command.” He smirks. “I'm sober enough to know what I want.” 

With that, Strahd plucks Rahadin’s wine glass from his hand and drinks deeply. He leans over, all too close, and Rahadin can feel his breath on his face. He smells of wine and musk and it is absolutely enthralling. Strahd’s lips are unexpectedly on his and the dusk elf can't help but gasp. Strahd seizes the opportunity to lock his lips around his, tips his chin up with a thumb, and Rahadin can suddenly taste the acidity of wine as Strahd tongues the alcohol into his mouth. It's enough to catch him off guard and he finds himself fruitlessly trying to tongue the wine back into Strahd’s mouth. The vampire lets out a pleased hum and intertwines their tongues.

They're kissing, Rahadin fully realizes just a moment too late, and they shouldn't be but Strahd initiated and he cannot find the will to care anymore. If Strahd decides to change his mind and kill him, then so be it. He returns the kiss, hesitant at first; it'd been a long time since he had been intimate with another. But he finds himself melting into it and pushing against Strahd’s tongue with his own with just as much heated fervor. His whole mouth tastes deeply of wine—just as he had imagined Strahd's mouth tasting of once on a particularly lonely night. Rahadin swallows the wine when he finally breaks for much-needed air.

Strahd’s eyes are dark with arousal, his lips slightly parted. Bending over, he wraps his hand around Rahadin’s and guides the wine glass to his lips. “Drink,” he instructs again, and Rahadin cannot get a word of protest out before their tangle of fingers is tipping the glass and Rahadin has to quickly swallow the burgundy liquid to prevent it from spilling onto his velvet tunic. Strahd finally pulls his hand away once the glass is drained and he has a smug expression on his face. “See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Come, up with you.”

Rahadin obeys. He reaches for the belt at Strahd’s waist—he'd accidentally witnessed enough couplings during his time as a general to understand what Strahd wants—but he's quick to swat it away.

“No, not tonight. I'm in the mood for something else.”

Rahadin swallows heavily. His heart is pounding in his chest. “What do you have in mind, my lord?”

“You have my permission to stop calling me ‘sir’ or ‘lord’ or any title of the sorts during this. It’s rather odd. If you must call out a name, just Strahd is fine.” He nods towards his hips. “Does that still work?”

It takes him a few moments to understand just what it is he is referring to and he almost chokes on his own saliva. “Yes, quite well.”

“Good.” Much to his surprise, it is Strahd that drops to his knees before him and goes for the fastening of his trousers. “Have you ever been intimate with a man before, Rahadin?” His deft fingers make quick work of the fastening and he tugs his trousers down to the middle of his thighs. Strahd lets out an aroused growl as his erection springs free.

Rahadin clears his throat. Words struggle to come to him. “Not with a man, no. A few women during my youth. I've been too busy as of late to," he pauses, "attend to such needs.”

Strahd chuckles lowly and their eyes meet momentarily. “Ever the loyal servant, Rahadin. Loyalty like yours deserves a reward.” He wraps a fist around him and Rahadin gasps at the sudden jolt of pleasure that runs up his spine. “I’ve coupled with men before, as I'm sure you know, but to be honest I have never been in a position such as this before,” he says and drags his fist up along his length before sticking a pink tongue out and lapping at him. His motions are tentative at first. Uncertain. But he quickly builds confidence and licks a long line up him.

Rahadin’s head is spinning. It's improper, having his master on his knees before him. If anything, he should be pleasuring him on his hands and knees. But Strahd seems to be enjoying himself, at the very least. He's nuzzling at his erection and making content noises while circling a thumb across the tip and Rahadin suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He settles for crossing them behind his back even though a part of him longs to tangle his fingers in Strahd's long hair.

His breath catches in his throat as Strahd goes to take him in his mouth. He can feel the slightest tug of fangs against his sensitive skin and Rahadin’s eyes go wide—just for a second—with fear. Strahd pulls off just enough to mumble a brief apology and is quick to try and rectify the situation by opening his mouth slightly wider and using his tongue to lavish attention on him. He takes him deeper. Eager to please, Rahadin thinks. A rare sight. The vampire’s eyes are carefully watching his, judging his reaction, and it strikes Rahadin that he, of all people, is looking for some sort of praise. His master always had been particularly vain.

Rahadin runs his fingers through Strahd’s hair and silently hopes that he's not overstepping any boundaries. “For someone who claims to have never pleasured a man with their mouth before, you're a natural,” he pants, unable to think of anything else to say. It is apparently enough because Strahd pulls off of him with a wet slurping sound, his mouth covered in saliva, and gives him a teeth-baring smile before wrapping his lips around his length again. He looks so unlike his normal regal self, Rahadin thinks, and he decides that he rather likes seeing him so disheveled. The noises coming from his mouth are wet and obscene, and it's enough to make Rahadin start to feel scorching fire building in his belly.

Strahd reaches two clawed hands up and grasps the dusk elf's backside. He pulls his hips forward, forcefully driving him deeper into the wetness of his mouth and holds him there. Tears prick at the corners of Strahd’s eyes as his throat violently contracts around Rahadin's erection, and he can't help but throw his head back and unabashedly groan in pleasure.

His hands wrap around the back of Strahd’s head and tangle in his hair—he's feeling particularly bold—and Rahadin lets the other man pull off just enough to recover before he's thrusting his hips forward. Strahd lets out a surprised noise—Rahadin hesitates to call it a whimper—but does not move to stop him, even after gagging on his length a handful of times. There are tears in Strahd's eyes threatening to spill over. Rahadin worries about hurting him, of course, but he trusts his master to let him know his limits.

Rahadin thrusts his hips another once, twice and the feeling of Strahd’s mouth around him is suddenly too much and he pulls back on Strahd's hair _hard_ in a last-minute attempt at warning him _._ It's enough to have Strahd pull off in surprise before Rahadin is spilling his seed across his pale face with a shuddering gasp.

It takes him a few moments after the tides of pleasure have ebbed away before Rahadin starts to realize exactly what he has done. Strahd is staring at him wide-eyed, his mouth parted slightly. Rivulets of his seed are coating his lips and face and threatening to drip down onto his vest. It would have been an erotic sight had it been anyone else.

“I apologize,” Rahadin stammers. His whole body feels exhausted, but it's nothing in comparison to the rising panic in his gut of what Strahd might do to him if he has mistakenly drawn his ire.

Strahd blinks slowly, dazed. With his middle finger, he swipes up a streak of Rahadin’s seed from his face and brings it to his mouth. His eyes become half-lidded as he laps it from his fingers like honey. 

Rahadin has to clear his throat and avert his gaze lest his modesty get the better of him. His heart is racing. He doesn't know whether to apologize again or to just remain silent. He chooses neither, hoping to play off of his master’s heightened sexuality instead. “Can I, ah, return the favor?”

“Hm?” Strahd glances up at him with a small start, as if he had forgotten he was still there. His lips are still wrapped around his middle finger.

“You'd said you'd,” he hesitates and clears his throat again, “always wondered what a dusk elf’s mouth around your cock would feel like. It'd be my pleasure to, ah—” _Gods, why is this so hard?_ It wasn't as if he hadn’t thought about this before in explicit detail! “—service you. My lord.” Rahadin reaches for the belt at Strahd's waist again. His pulse is quickening. A part of him wonders what kind of lover Strahd is. If the corpses he'd seen the servants carry away from his quarters are any indicator… a brutally violent one. Would he be the same with him? While his master had promised to never feast upon him as long as he never disappointed him, he knew tales of men whose hearts changed in the midst of passion. The only thing binding Strahd was his word. While Rahadin was, as all elves are, blessed with the gift of long life, hot blood still coursed through his veins.

Strahd is quick to swat his hand away, and Rahadin can only hope that the other man doesn't notice his slight breath of relief. “Not tonight. Maybe another time, since you seem so eager to please…” As an afterthought, he whispers fiercely, “If you'll have me.” Strahd trails the back of his hand down Rahadin’s gaunt cheek for a brief moment before he mutters a quick word and snaps his fingers. Just like that, the remains of the mess on his face are gone.

 _A shame_ , Rahadin thinks.

“Of course.” Rahadin gives a slight bow. “Is there anything else you need from me, my lord?” The courtesy of the statement is lost upon his insistence in tucking himself back into his trousers.

“No. That will be all, Rahadin.” Strahd goes to sit back down in his seat from before and reaches for his cup again. There is a distant look in his dark eyes. Rahadin wisely does not press him about it.

“Yes, my lord.” With another bow, Rahadin turns to leave the room. Once he is out of sight, Rahadin drops the stoic expression on his face and lets the exhaustion wash over him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤷

The two arrive at the Blue Water Inn in record time. It had been Rahadin that suggested they travel via horseback rather than carriage; it was much faster and more convenient since it was only the two of them. 

The sun had just set over the town of Vallaki and all of the villager’s doors had long since been shut and locked. Only the inn remained open. Lucky for them; Rahadin wasn’t feeling particularly apt to pounding on or kicking in any doors that night. 

Strahd had been quiet during their ride to Vallaki. Even with the roar of the wind in their ears, Strahd would usually humor him by listening to his ramblings—about finances, political ties, recent news in the villages—and offering his insight. It wasn't often that just the two of them got to enjoy one another’s company. They were both busy men that lived on different day and night cycles, after all. When Strahd did invite him to be in his company, though, they spoke like friends who had known each other for millennia.

Instead of talking back and forth, their conversation had been one sided. Rahadin would start a conversation and Strahd would merely offer a one-word response. It was obvious that beneath his calm outward appearance, the vampire was fuming. 

The burgomaster of the town, Boris Hillgarden, had not paid enough taxes to the lord of Barovia for a town the size of Vallaki. (By his calculations, Rahadin noted that he was about 4,000 gold pieces short for that year.) 

There were few things that Strahd hated more than thieves, and he viewed tax evasion as stealing directly from him. He’d made his views towards thieves known time and time again. Punishing thieves was always one of the rare times he left Castle Ravenloft. Strahd preferred to handle the matter himself to set an example and the citizens of Barovia would often wake up to find the thief’s head up on a pike, the rest of their body torn to shreds by the wolves that patrolled the area. A gruesome sight for sure, but it tended to keep the villagers in line. 

Strahd steps off of his horse without a word and Rahadin is quick to follow. He can hear the bustle of drinks being served and the raucous laughter of guests from the outside. After a quick and fruitful visit to the burgomaster’s home, his wife had told them that he had gone to the tavern for the night.

For the first time since they left the castle, Strahd turns and addresses him with a nod of his head. “Shall we?”

“Of course, my lord.”

With that, Strahd throws open the doors to the tavern. Everything goes quiet. Past Strahd’s shoulder, Rahadin can see that every person in the tavern has stopped mid-drink to stare at the broad form of Strahd von Zarovich, lord of Barovia, in the flesh. Someone in the tavern drops their class, shattering it.

“Good evening,” Strahd offers nonchalantly. He steps into the building enough for Rahadin to slip in behind him and stand at his side.

The whole building reeks of alcohol and vomit. Rahadin has to resist cringing at the smell of the place. There are at least 14 people in the tavern spread out amongst several tables—weary-looking travelers who look like they have seen their fair share of hardship. 

“My lord Strahd.” The barkeep deeply bows his head in Strahd’s direction. “You honor my humble inn with your presence. How may I help you?”

Strahd dismisses the bow with a flick of his hand. “I was told I could find Burgomaster Hillgarden here,” he says.

All eyes immediately turn to the rotund bearded man sitting at a table.

With a sigh, the man stands up, nearly toppling his chair in the process. “Aye, that is me. What can I do for you, my lord?” He bows.

“You were short on your taxes,” Strahd notes, skipping all formalities. He takes a step closer to the burgomaster. “Explain yourself.”

Burgomaster Hillgarden’s eyes go wide; there is the unmistakable look of fear in them. “M-My lord, I don’t understand. All of the money should have been there!”

“Rahadin, please read the man how much he owes.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Rahadin removes the bag on his back and retrieves a scroll. He clears his throat, “With a reported population of 1,480, the taxes due for Vallaki this year are 11,840 gold pieces. As of two days ago, the treasury has only received 7,420 gold pieces.” With finality, the dusk elf rolls the parchment back up.

Strahd’s eyes flick back to the burgomaster. “Explain.”

There’s a tremor in his voice as he speaks. “Forgive me, my lord. Our crops this year have suffered due to the lack of rain. As such, the citizens of Vallaki have been struggling to feed their families, much less afford taxes. If my lord would be so kind and generous as to offer an extension—“

“What I’m hearing is that you knew that your taxes fell short and you lied to me,” Strahd states matter-of-factly. “You are a thief and a liar, Burgomaster Hillgarden, and you are doing your people a disservice. I’m sure you’re aware of what I do to people who try and steal from me.”

The burgomaster’s entire body is trembling by this point. Rahadin notices the man’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows. His eyes dart between him and Strahd as he contemplates. Suddenly, he reaches for his waist and the burgomaster draws a dagger from its scabbard, pointing it at Strahd.

“I swore an oath to protect the people of Vallaki. We can’t afford your exorbitant taxes right now and I will not have my people starve just to line your pockets,” the Burgomaster says. It is quiet in the tavern for several moments before gradually, one by one, customers begin cheering for the burgomaster.

Rahadin can’t help but think of how pathetic the whole display is. The man can barely hold his dagger with how much his hands are shaking. 

Strahd laughs at the man, a deep mocking sound that fills the tavern. “What are you hoping to prove with this false show of courage? That you actually care about these people? If you cared about them you would have been honest with me in the first place.” He claps his hands together. “If you cared about these people, you could have given one of the many expensive trinkets I saw in your home earlier, or that gold necklace I see around your neck right now.”

The burgomaster flinches. “I-I will not let you harm our town.”

Strahd scoffs at that. “Again, you are the one that is hoarding the wealth of the town.”

One of the customers stands up at that. “The burgomaster said no. We’re not going to let you bully us out of every copper we own!”

Another man chimes in, “The burgomaster is a champion of the people!” He draws a short sword.

Several others begin to speak up until almost the entire tavern is standing up, their weapons drawn. They’re shouting, spitting at Strahd, yelling obscenities. Another pathetic display, Rahadin thinks. During all of this, his master still appears unfazed, a neutral expression on his face. 

Strahd turns towards Rahadin. “Do you see now why I don’t enjoy coming into town?” He addresses the rising mob with a booming voice. “You are all so blind to the wrongs committed by your burgomaster that you would rather die defending his honor! However, I am reasonable and will give you a chance: those that do not wish to die tonight may leave now without consequence. You may go home and spend time with your families rather than stand by this fool.”

The crowd hesitates for a moment. Several people in the inn take Strahd’s offer and slink out, including the barkeep. 

“Anyone else?”

Strahd gives them enough time to close the door behind them and waits expectantly. Upon seeing no further shuffling in the crowd, he lunges forward, quick as lightning, and pierces the burgomaster’s stomach with a clawed hand before he even has time to react. The burgomaster’s eyes glaze over and he lets out a sharp exhale. Strahd pulls his now bloodied hand out and pushes his body to the floor with a thud that reverberates throughout the inn.

Upon seeing their burgomaster’s lifeless body fall to the ground, several people dash towards Strahd, weapons brandished.

They must be inebriated to even consider taking on the lord of Barovia, Rahadin thinks. With a sigh, he draws his own scimitar and braces himself for the two individuals that throw themselves at him. Rahadin ducks beneath one of their fists, only to catch a dagger swipe to the shoulder. He hisses as the steel cuts into his flesh; drops of his own blood patter to the ground. With newfound anger, Rahadin swivels around and swipes at the man’s exposed side with the scimitar. He weaves out of the way and creates enough space between them for him to stabilize himself again.

With diamond-hard claws Strahd swipes at another's exposed throat. The man lets out a surprised grunt before scarlet blood sprays out from the wounds. The force is enough to coat Strahd’s torso and stain his once-white undershirt crimson.

Strahd is laughing, Rahadin realizes—a joyful sound he swears he has not heard in years. He can barely make it out past the sound of his own blood thrumming in his ears as he sidesteps a jab and draws his scimitar along some poor fool’s axillary artery. The man’s arm falls useless to his side and he drops his shortsword, giving Rahadin enough of an opening to slide behind him and slit his throat.

Strahd is fast. He's cut down at least three men in the time it has taken him to do one. His teeth are bared in a parody of a grin as he weaves between flashes of daggers and shortswords in what Rahadin could almost describe as a macabre dance. Even with their numbers at their advantage, their reflexes are too slow and Strahd makes quick work of them.

Someone is running for the door, he realizes. With a boot against their chest, Rahadin pushes and pulls his scimitar from its sheath in a man's shoulder blade. He pulls out a dart from his quiver with his free hand and hurls it with practiced precision. The dart embeds itself into the man's neck and he slumps to the ground.

Sharp pain radiates throughout his torso once more. The man beside him had stuck a dagger into his shoulder beside his previous wound. Rahadin curses and mutters a quick incantation under his breath before being surrounded by silver mist. The dagger clangs to the ground. His stomach lurches as he’s hurled through space and reforms behind his attacker. He stabs his scimitar through his gut and twists. The man's scream fills the tavern as his will to fight drains away. Rahadin pulls his weapon out and leaves the man to die on the floor.

He glances around for Strahd. He seems to have been faring much better than he has; there are two dead men at his feet and he has a fistful of a woman's dark hair. She's beating her fists against his chest fruitlessly and shrieking curses at him and this seems to amuse the vampire more than anything. 

Strahd wraps an arm around her torso before sinking his fangs into the meat of her throat. Her shriek turns to a low gurgle as the blood bubbles out of her carotid artery and into his waiting mouth. His lips are planted around the puncture wounds and he drinks deeply. The look of wide-eyed panic on her face is replaced with one of content acceptance, her eyes half-lidded and dull. The noise in her throat slowly dies down.

Strahd’s eyes are closed, his eyebrows furrowed. His grip on her neck slackens as her will to fight ebbs away. He drinks for several minutes until the color of her flesh rivals Strahd’s and her eyes have sunken in. Finally, he releases her body and sends it crumpling onto the dirt-covered floor below. 

He opens his eyes and meets Rahadin’s gaze. The piercing look in his unnaturally black eyes, his face spattered with blood that does not belong to him, is enough to send chills down his spine. The tips of his crimson canines jut out from his upper lip. Inhuman. Strahd shoots him a small feral-looking grin and Rahadin does his best to return it despite the flashes of hot pain in his shoulder. 

The depths of his eyes flash red. There is a malicious look plastered on his face as Strahd surveys the scene, looking every part The Devil Strahd. His mouth is parted slightly and Rahadin can see him draw his tongue over his prominent canines, licking them clean. His face and clothes are spattered with blood. Two lines of blood trail down from his red-stained lips and bead up along his chin.

He is absolutely terrifying looking. Any and all refinement has been tossed to the wind; beastial is the best word to describe the lord of Barovia at that moment. It scares and excites Rahadin all at once, he hates to admit. A small part of him, not the logical part, is attracted to his blatant show of power, the brutality and grace in each of his movements. It was such a rare treat to see the vampire outside of his study or feeding upon the livestock he kept in the dungeons, and instead following his natural call of destruction. He could watch Strahd at work for hours. While he admires Strahd the scholar, he loves Strahd the warrior all the more. 

He wants that for himself—wants him for himself.

Strahd’s attention suddenly snaps to him. His pupils are narrow slits. “Enjoying the view?” Strahd snarls. 

It's then that Rahadin realizes that he has been staring at the vampire. He's quick to avert his gaze. “My apologies.”

Strahd continues to stare at him, as if he's reading into his very soul. Suddenly, his frown turns into a wolfish grin and he's lumbering towards him, tall and imposing. “I don't understand you, Rahadin. How can one be so proper and prudish, yet so depraved at the same time?” His eyes drop to his waist for just a moment. “Despite being in my company for centuries, you still manage to find ways to surprise me.”

The color drains from Rahadin's face. He's not a pious man, but he can only silently pray to whichever deity may be listening that Strahd is not alluding to what he thinks he is. “I don't think I follow, my lord.”

“Oh, I think you do. Your heart is pounding and you reek of arousal. You enjoy this a little too much, don't you?” Strahd is close to him now and Rahadin instinctually backs up—until his lower back hits the edge of the bar. “Which aspect of this does it for you? The bloodshed? The taking of human life?” Strahd doesn't stop walking until his own chest brushes against Rahadin’s. Strahd’s thigh teasingly brushes against the hardness in Rahadin’s trousers—he knows exactly what he's doing—and the dusk elf lets out a rather undignified yelp. “The struggle?”

“You,” Rahadin gasps out, and he immediately regrets it. 

Strahd's eyes widen almost comically—it was so rare for him to be caught off guard—before his pupils become small slits again, the wolfish grin returning to his face. “I’m flattered, but surely it cannot be me. You see me all the time, and never with such results.”

Rahadin does not take the bait, instead choosing to not respond and to keep his eyes averted. He hopes that Strahd will forget about it and leave him alone. 

Unlikely.

“Please, elaborate.”

The dusk elf glances up enough to give Strahd an anxious smile before swallowing heavily and averting his gaze again. There's no use in trying to lie to him. “I'm not sure I quite understand it myself.” He wishes he could walk away, but Strahd’s broad frame keeps him pinned. From this distance, he can smell whatever soap he uses clinging to his skin. He can feel the chill emanating off of his undead body and soaking into his own bones.

Strahd hums in contemplation. The vampire reaches up and runs a thumb along Rahadin's cheekbone. His hands are covered in blood, and Strahd only succeeds in smearing it across his face. It reeks of human and Rahadin has to force himself not to crinkle his nose at it. There is a look, something unreadable, in Strahd's eyes, and trails his thumb down to his chin.

“Open.”

Rahadin does as he’s told and Strahd slips two blood-covered fingers into his mouth. The dusk elf lets out a small noise of surprise. The copper taste of blood fills his mouth and overwhelms his senses. His eyes meet Strahd’s.

With a sigh of determination—he is not sure what he’s trying to prove, if anything—Rahadin wraps his lips around him. Strahd raises his eyebrows in surprise but does not go to stop him as he swirls his tongue along the pads of his fingers until he can no longer taste the acrid tang of blood. His ears feel red hot, and is certain that the flush is creeping up his neck as well.

“Don’t tease me unless you plan to follow through,” Strahd warns quietly. It’s a threat as much as any other. His eyes have lost their humored glow; they are dark and, as the dusk elf has come to learn, very serious. 

Rahadin lets his fingers slip from his mouth. “You're the one that confronted me first,” he whispers fiercely.

“Do you want this?”

Letting out a shaky breath, Rahadin nods his head. Before he even has time to process it, Strahd pulls his hand away and pushes him until his back is horizontal against the bar. His head slams against the wooden counter hard enough for pinpricks of light to momentarily fill his vision. The vampire’s body weight pins him there and Rahadin is helpless as Strahd presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of his throat. His fangs graze his sensitive skin—too close for comfort—and Rahadin's breath catches in his throat for the briefest of moments.

The dusk elf goes to push Strahd away, to redirect his attention towards his lips instead, but Strahd grabs his wrist and pins his arm to the bar above his head.

“Is this fear I'm sensing in you?” Strahd murmurs against his throat. His lips are pressed against his jugular vein, feeling his pulse, teasing him in the cruelest way.

He needs to think carefully about his next words. He swallows heavily. “You weren't paying special attention to my neck earlier. I believe it is my right to be a bit nervous right now.”

“Not interested in becoming like me, I take it?”

“I mean no offense, my lord, but I very much enjoy being amongst the living.”

“I wouldn't make you like those mindless slaves of mine, drinking blood without a second thought and quivering in fear whenever I so much as raise a hand. No, you're much more valuable to me than that,” Strahd purrs. 

Strahd shifts his hips and Rahadin inhales sharply at the feeling of the vampire’s erection brushing against his own. He continues to kiss and lap at his throat, just above his pulse point.

“I've never tasted a dusk elf’s blood before…”

“Strahd—” Rahadin swallows heavily and sets him with an earnest look, “you promised.”

“Mm, I suppose I did.” The vampire rolls his hips and Rahadin has to grit his teeth to keep quiet. “You're fortunate in that I just fed—that open wound on your shoulder is… tempting. I suggest you find something else to grab my attention.” With that, Strahd licks a long teasing line up his neck before taking a step back.

Rahadin sucks in a shuddering breath, relieved to have the weight off of his chest. Sweat is beginning to bead up along his temples and trail down the sides of his face. While he catches his breath, he watches as Strahd undoes his belt and pulls himself out from his trousers. The blood from before is now smeared across the vampire's face, he notes, and undoubtedly covering his own neck.

“Is your previous offer still on the table, Rahadin?”

The dusk elf's eyes are immediately drawn to his hips. His sex is thick, much longer than he had been expecting, and just as pale as the rest of him. His heart flutters in his chest at the sight of it. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Strahd is staring at him, expectant, waiting for him to make the next move as he languidly strokes his erection. 

“It is,” he breathes, never taking his eyes off of the lewd sight in front of him. He can only assume he's referring to his own comment months prior about returning the favor after Strahd had pleasured him with his mouth. After they had kissed, of all things… Their interactions had, for the most part, been passionate and gentle. It seemed from Strahd's attentions, the warm look in his eyes that he so rarely saw, that his master had a great deal of trust in him. It made his heart soar.

Strahd beckons to him with two clawed fingers, and Rahadin can't help but eye the front door of the tavern nervously before kneeling before his master. “What if somebody sees us?”

Strahd lifts an eyebrow, as if what he has said is the most inconsequential thing at that moment. “Let them. They won't get far.”

He is still not so certain. 

“You were so eager to please your lord not a month prior, Rahadin. Has something changed since then?” Strahd asks. 

His words are a trap, Rahadin realizes. It would be so easy to offend him. He chooses his next words carefully, “Of course not.” If only he knew how often he has fantasized about this, how many nights he has spent pleasuring himself, ashamed, to the thought of him. But never had he thought that any of his musings would actually come true. ”I'm a bit nervous, I suppose, having never done this before.” 

Strahd tilts his head slightly. “Never done what?”

Rahadin takes an uneven breath. The vampire is playing coy, trying to embarrass him. Strahd must love seeing him flustered; it seemed he had gone out of his way recently to do just that. “Strahd, I beseech you to not play this game with me right now. You know exactly what I'm referring to!”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Rahadin how the other man’s pupils narrow just the slightest bit. There’s the ghost of a smirk on his face. “What is it you think I want you to do?”

“You are terrible.” The dusk elf takes a step towards him and drops to his knees. Tentatively, Rahadin replaces Strahd's hand around the base of his length. It's cold to the touch and he can feel it throb beneath his fingers. He experimentally runs a loose fist along his length—it's so different from pleasuring himself—and is encouraged when Strahd lets out a small hum of pleasure. Glancing up, he can see that Strahd is idly watching the movements of his hand, his lips parted slightly.

”Use your mouth,” Strahd demands. As he speaks, Rahadin can hear the slight quake in his voice. Without a moment of hesitation, the vampire tangles a fist in Rahadin's ebony hair and nudges him towards his erection. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves, Rahadin licks his lips, glances at his master, and takes the head of him into his mouth. He tastes salty, heady, and Rahadin can't help the small groan that comes out of his mouth; Strahd tightens his grip on his hair at that.

The dusk elf starts to bob his head and slowly takes him deeper despite the blossoming ache in his jaw. His taste and scent, uniquely his master, are intoxicating from this distance and floods his senses. After much internal debate, Rahadin goes for the fastening of his trousers and pulls out his own aching manhood.

Strahd purrs, his voice thick with lust, “If I had known you were such a whore for my cock, Rahadin, I would have made use of you sooner…”

Rahadin’s eyes go wide—he wishes he could disappear at that very moment—and Strahd chuckles. There's a warmth to his tone. “I'm glad you're, hah, enjoying yourself for once...”

The dusk elf does his best to ignore his teasing and doubles his efforts, reveling in the look of ecstasy on his master's face.

“There's something especially erotic about seeing you of all people on your knees for me—”

Rahadin pulls off of him just enough to speak, “Are you this chatty with all of your partners, or just the ones you want to embarrass into an early grave?”

A flash of anger passes over Strahd’s face. His grip on his hair tightens threateningly and he juts his hips forward, smearing a line of wetness along Rahadin's face. “It is best you don't forget your place, _elf_. You're mine to use as I please. If I want to talk during sex, I will. If I want to use your mouth until I'm finishing down your throat, I will. Understood?”

“Of course—Gods!” Rahadin gasps at the sudden wave of pleasure that fogs over his mind at the vampire's words. “I am yours to do with as you please…” The vampire's words send a wave of pleasure to his sex. By all means, he should be terrified of Strahd's words, and a part of him is. Yet his words excite him, fill him with a delicious sense of dread that sends chills up his spine. His own length, hot and heavy in his hand, is starting to drip onto the floor. Both shame and arousal sit heavy in Rahadin's belly.

Without another word, he takes Strahd back into his mouth. He can hardly get half of him into his mouth, but he uses his free hand to stroke his base while his tongue lavishes the rest of him. 

“Gods—” Strahd throws his head back and Rahadin can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat while he swallows, his pale lips parted slightly. He lets out a shuddering groan. “Fuck—!” The vampire thrusts his hips forward, enough to gag him, and he's finishing down his throat, his nails digging into Rahadin's scalp. The dusk elf swallows desperately to avoid choking further as Strahd rides out his orgasm. He struggles to breath for a brief moment as Strahd holds his head in place with sharp claws. He thrusts his hips once, twice before finally stepping back and giving Rahadin room to breath.

The dusk elf coughs into the back of his hand and inhales sharply. He's so close. Desperate, he starts to stroke himself faster. Strahd leans down, close to his ear, and purrs, “Be a good little whore and finish for your master.” His tongue traces the shell of his pointed ear and like that Rahadin’s orgasm takes him. Pinpoints of light dance behind his eyes as the euphoric feeling explodes in his core, enough to make his brain feel foggy for several moments.

Once he's regained enough composure, Rahadin glances up to find Strahd gazing down at him, a lazy smirk on his face. There's a certain warmth in his eyes and it's enough to elicit a small yet exhausted smile from him as well. Strahd reaches a hand down and the dusk elf gratefully accepts it. His legs feel like unstable twigs at that moment and he doesn't trust them to keep him up; he goes to lean against the bar after tucking himself back into his trousers.

The two bask in comfortable silence for several moments. A church bell chimes somewhere in the distance, reminding Rahadin of just how long they have been in the tavern. He clears his throat.

“Was that, ah, okay? My lord?” He averts his gaze. 

“I hope you're not fishing for compliments, Rahadin.” Upon getting no response from him, Strahd sighs softly and sidles up next to him at the bar. With deft fingers he brushes a stray piece of hair behind his ear and purrs, “Did you miss the part where I climaxed, or do I need to show you again?”

The heat quickly returns to Rahadin's face and Strahd lets out a low chuckle. “Mortifying you is becoming one of my favorite past times, I'm finding. You’re ever so charming when you're flustered. Anyway,” Strahd smacks a hand down on the counter top in finality before straightening back up, “I believe it's time we started heading back for Ravenloft. We've been lucky to not have some drunkard stumble into the tavern on us yet.”

“Of course.”

Strahd stretches and begins walking towards the door of the tavern, stepping over numerous bodies along the way. 

Rahadin is quick to follow


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE LAST ONE I PROMISE 
> 
> Also, I'm marking this chapter as dubcon just to be safe; there's some deception in that Vasili von Holtz is Strahd with alter self/polymorph cast.

“You want me to… what?”

Strahd, without looking up from the tome in his lap, flips a page. “Go down to Barovia Village and find me two or three suitable men.”

“Two or three… at once?”

“Yes.”

“To be intimate with?” Words fail to come to him for a moment. The fact that Strahd has come to him with this request is nothing short of dumbfounding. “Why so many?”

Strahd’s tone is neutral. “Why does it matter to you?” His eyes flick up for just a moment, the ghost of a smirk on his face. “Jealousy does not befit one such as yourself, my friend.” Before Rahadin can protest, Strahd continues, “Existence can become particularly dull after having lived centuries; I'm sure you can relate. Even something as pleasurable as the act of love can become monotonous over time when there is no diversity. I would like to try something new.”

“i see.” _Surely there must be something else that is not nearly as drastic,_ Rahadin can't help but think. The light from the roaring fire in the hearth casts a warm glow across Strahd's sharp features as his eyes scan the pages in front of him; from the look on his face, he's being serious. His master was rarely one to jest. Rahadin looks down at his hands in his lap and recrosses his legs before looking up sharply at Strahd. “Forgive me, my lord, but why don't you attend to this task yourself and personally choose a suitor?”

Strahd shoots him a look, as if he was expecting better of him. “Because I asked _you_ to. If you are incapable of fulfilling even a simple task…”

He’s expecting him to interrupt, Rahadin knows. To say that he is very much capable and jump to the task. While he would normally never challenge the vampire’s orders, this is the exception. Not this time—not with this… frankly _ridiculous_ request.

“Strahd, as both chamberlain and your friend, I _strongly_ advise you not to follow through with this.” _Don't debase yourself with these humans,_ he wants to say. “Why not seek out Escher for company?”

Strahd suddenly snaps the tome closed. His dark eyes, glowing red with the fire, are on his. “When you become ruler of this land, Rahadin, and only then, will I give you permission to _advise_ me.” he snaps. ”I have grown bored of Escher.”

“Your brides—“

“Cannot _fuck_ me, Rahadin. Does that _clarify_ matters for you?” Strahd’s voice is dripping with venom when he speaks, his words sharp and pronounced.

His mouth snaps shut at that, any words he was going to say immediately gone. _Oh._ Gods, how he wished he could disappear at that very moment…

Strahd’s eyes feel like they are piercing into his very soul. The silence stretches between them for several tense moments.

The tips of his ears are scorching. Rahadin clears his throat and tries to hide the rising desperation in his voice. “My lord, you know I would fight through the Nine Hells for you, but I beg of you to tend to this task on your own. If you go in disguise—”

“Of course I will be in disguise. I can’t march into town and ask the nearest wretch if they would like to be intimate with Count Strahd von Zarovich, now can I? No one would be foolish enough to be intimate with the lord of their land, the very same one they tell horror stories of to make their whelps behave.” He pauses. “No one besides you, anyway.”

Rahadin’s stomach drops at the accusation. He wants to bite back that this hasn’t stopped others—harlots only interested in positions of power—from trying to woo Strahd before.

“This arrangement adds a certain element of... excitement as well. There are very few I would entrust such a task with. I trust that I can depend on you to see it through?”

Rahadin, possibly against his better judgement, ignores the waves of hostility coming off of Strahd. “Unlike you, I'm not especially good at… wooing others, my lord. I feel this task would be more fitting of one with your talents.”

Strahd inhales sharply despite not needing to breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the fire in his eyes is gone. The exasperation is evident in his voice. “You wouldn't need to woo anyone. Just find two or three interested men.”

Again, Strahd is overestimating his interpersonal skills. He prides himself in striking fear in the hearts of men—a trait that does not particularly lend itself to propositioning strangers. At the same time, however, Strahd did come to him with this request. It was rare for the vampire to ask things of him; Rahadin usually foresaw what needed to be done and did necessary tasks without being asked. He needs him, a part of him thinks—no matter how much he abhors the request.

“Fine,” Rahadin snaps. “However, I want it to be noted that I am not happy about this.”

A smug smile spreads across Strahd's thin lips. “Noted.” He claps his hands together. “I will make sure that you are properly rewarded for your efforts once the task is done.”

Rahadin clenches his fists at his sides; once his master had his mind set on something, it was near impossible to sway him. He could be frustratingly stubborn at times. Rahadin sighs in defeat and does not even try to keep the look of frustration off his face. “Yes, sir.”

The matter was settled.

\------

He chooses the tavern in Barovia Village. If he was going to try and find interested men, it would be beneficial for them to have their tongues loosened before propositioning them like some damn brothel owner advertising his harlots. 

Not only did he have to try and identify men that were interested in being intimate with a stranger, but also those that were interested in men. He feels incredibly out of his element. While he was skilled in many areas, charming others was not one of them. Others often found his personality off-putting; they found him too harsh, as if they could read past his proper presentation and sniff out his bloodthirsty nature. His mahogany skin and long ears certainly didn't help matters as the citizens of Barovia were especially distrusting of outsiders. He could feel eyes on him, could hear the whispers, the minute he set foot in the tavern.

Rahadin had managed to reel in one tavern patron—a woodcutter. Rather than being repelled by his appearance, he had expressed interest in his story. (He chose to leave out the details of his name and how he had gained power as he was unaware of just how much the locals knew about him.) Despite his round belly, he could see pronounced muscles from years of hard work beneath the sleeves of the man's simple tunic. His bearded face was rugged with a square jaw. 

The second man Rahadin came across was the exact opposite of the first man he had found. Where he had had strong hands and rugged features, this man was much softer in appearance. High cheekbones graced his slender face, his long dark hair pulled away from his face and gathered together with a piece of twine. Through conversation, Rahadin learned that he was training to become a scribe.

While Rahadin did not find him particularly attractive, he knew his master had a certain proclivity towards those with softer features. He thanked his fortune that the man had initially seemed interested in his proposal and had not smashed the stine in his hands over his head yet.

“You've met Von Holtz before?”

“No, I've only heard the rumors. I know he's under the employment of _The Devil_ himself, though.”

“We all do what we can to get by during these bleak times.”

The scribe snorts and takes another drink. “What does he look like?” he asks finally. 

Rahadin has to think for a moment about the appearance of Strahd's alter ego. He's seen him enough times in passing, but it’s Strahd's appearance that sticks with him the most. He thinks hard about how to discern the two. “His appearance is quite striking, if you ask me. For a human, he's quite handsome. Short brown hair. Eyes as dark and alluring as the night sky.”

“What is he like down there?”

“Down there?” The question confuses him for a moment, but the sly grin on the scribe’s face is the only clue he needs. Heat rises in Rahadin's face and he's not sure if it's due to the audacity of the question or anger. “Find out yourself!” he snaps. Gods, how he wished Strahd hadn't pawned this lowly task onto him. This was humiliating! He was a chamberlain, not a brothel owner! His expertise was in warfare and resource management, not… this!

“I see—sensitive subject.” The scribe snorts. “If he's looking for someone to warm his bed why doesn't he come ask me himself? What, is he your slave or something that you send out to walk the streets?”

“Nothing like that. Von Holtz is what you would call an, ah,” he thinks for a moment, “ _adventurous_ man and feels as if this arrangement will add a sense of excitement to his love life,” says Rahadin, using Strahd’s own choice of words.

“He's got you whipped, doesn't he? I can tell from the sour look on your purple face that you're not enjoying this one bit.”

His words teeter on the cusp of truth and insolence. While the man is not wrong—he hates every minute of this—the condescending tone in his voice makes Rahadin’s blood boil in his veins. He wants to put this man in his place, to brutalize him until he has learned a lesson about talking down to him. Controlling his hair-trigger temper has never been one of his strengths.

The dusk elf takes a deep breath and momentarily closes his eyes.

The joy he would get from tearing this man asunder would be nothing compared to the disappointment from Strahd if he didn't fulfill this ridiculous request.

He tries, _tries,_ to appear pleasant and smile despite the fury still building in his core. “I do whatever my lord requires of me,” he responds, his voice strained.

“Of course you do.” The scribe—Rahadin has already forgotten his name—knocks back the rest of his ale and slams the stine down onto the countertop. “Tell you what, elf boy. I'll do you a favor and spare you from this arduous process. Tell your _master_ that I accept.” He shrugs. “I don't have much else going on tonight. Might as well spend it fucking someone.” 

_Thank the gods._ “I appreciate your… _generosity.”_

They arrange to meet at sundown.

—

“I'm quite impressed with your work, Rahadin. I must say, I was not expecting you to follow through with this, much less find two willing individuals.” It is Strahd's deep voice that comes out of the man beside Rahadin. He has seen his alter ego Vasili von Holtz enough times, but at times he still struggles with remembering that they are one in the same. 

It's a very good illusion, one cast with powerful magic. Where Strahd outwardly appears to be in his 40s, Vasili is young and unmarred by the effects of time. Where Strahd’s pale torso is pocked with scars from his time as a soldier, Vasili has the smooth skin of a nobleman who has never worked a day in his life. Where Strahd exudes power and nobility, Vasili is warm and good-humored. 

“You honor me, my lord,” says Rahadin, biting his tongue as to not comment on just how unpleasant the process was.

Strahd—Vasili von Holtz—takes a deep drink of wine and gingerly sets the empty cup down onto the bar. His eyes dart away and Rahadin can tell that he’s scanning the tavern. “Are they here?”

He doesn’t particularly care if they are or not. He fulfilled his end of the bargain; the rest was on the two humans. 

The tavern isn’t crowded that night. There are only six patrons besides the two of them minding their own business at separate tables, their gaze diverted towards their drinks. He spots the two men sitting together at a table talking in hushed tones with one another. Somehow, they had managed to find one another. 

Rahadin turns his attention back towards Vasili. “Yes. The two sitting together at the table ahead and to your right.”

The vampire's eyes lock on to the duo. “ _Birds of a feather._ You did well. _”_ He licks his lips. Vasili motions for the barkeep and, switching to the lower baritone voice of his alter ego, orders two more cups of wine. With no lack of confidence, Vasili takes the drinks over to their table and warmly greets the both of them.

Rahadin can't tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him. The two men are quick to relax, no doubt partly due to the natural charm that Strahd gives off, and it isn't long before the three of them are laughing at something that the dusk elf can't make out.

His master deserves better than these humans, Rahadin thinks with more than a little bitterness. His master is of royal, immortal blood, not the tainted blood of commoners! 

Vasili drops his voice and leans in closer towards the men. His dark eyes dart between the two as he talks and Rahadin can only imagine the lecherous things they are discussing. A part of Rahadin wants to leave, to leave the three to their own vices, but Strahd has not given him permission to do so yet. He curses under his breath and considers buying a drink or five for himself.

The sound of chairs scooting on stone catches his attention and Rahadin perks back up. It is Vasili that is walking towards him while the other two men wait in the background, and the dusk elf can only hope that it is to dismiss him.

“Is everything,” Rahadin pauses to search for the proper word, “ _acceptable_?”

Vasili smiles, and Rahadin can't help but notice how it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Yes, quite. They seem decent enough and expressed interest when I explained what I was seeking.”

A sudden wave of boldness sweeps over him before his logical side can stop him. Rahadin drops his voice, “And what is it specifically you are seeking, if I may?”

Vasili quirks an eyebrow at him, but says nothing more on the subject. “You may leave now, if you so choose. No use in having you sit here the entire time looking uncomfortable.”

Rahadin nods his head and tries to not read too much into the vampire's words. 

“Of course,” Vasili sidles up beside him and whispers in his ear, “you are more than welcome to join if you would like. Consider it payment for a job well done.” It's Strahd's voice this time. His voice is like warm velvet to him, and Rahadin can feel his eyes flutter at the suggestion. Vasili gives the tip of his ear a quick nip before turning around and leaving again.

He swallows heavily. Surely, he wasn't actually considering it… It would be more beneficial for him to keep watch, to make sure his master’s little _play session_ went uninterrupted.

But he _had_ offered… Would be get a chance like this again?

Rahadin watches as Strahd—Vasili—wraps his arms around the waists of the two men and begins guiding them toward one of the rooms of the inn. His heart flutters in his chest as he stares at the back of Vasili’s black coat until he’s gone around the corner.

Surely…

_Damn it._

With a small huff and a glance around the tavern, Rahadin picks himself up, brushes off his tunic, and follows the path he had seen the small group take earlier.

The doors in the small hall are all closed except for one cracked door. _Had Strahd really been expecting him?_ Rahadin’s keen hearing picks up on the low sound of men’s voices coming from it, the barest hint of his master's voice. Taking a deep breath to calm his frantic nerves—he cannot fathom why he is so nervous—he pushes open the door and boldly steps inside.

His master is already on his knees. There are two men standing in front of him in a state of undress and it takes Rahadin a few moments to unravel what is happening before him.

It suddenly dawns on him.

He knew what to expect, knew exactly what kind of gathering this was before entering the room, and yet the sight of his master humbled by some damn _peasant’s_ cock in his mouth is enough to make him audibly almost choke on his own saliva.

Vasili lifts his eyes up at the sound. There's an almost warm look to them as his eyes settle upon him, and Rahadin can see so much of his master behind the blue gaze. A similar gaze had fallen upon him the last time they had been intimate, forever etched into his memory; Rahadin thought about those amorous eyes—they were such a rare treat—often. The same gaze he had been blessed with after returning to Ravenloft centuries ago, panting with dark glee and covered head to toe in blood that did not belong to him after having slaughtered half of his own race. 

He would do it all again to have him look at him like that.

“Glad to see you decided to join us, elf boy,” the scribe pipes up. He’s stroking himself, lewd, in front of Vasili, just hoping to be deserving of his lord's attention.

The other man, the one with his filthy human parts in his lord’s mouth, speaks up as well. “Real slut you've got yourself here. Sucks cock like a dream.” With that, he wraps a meaty hand around the back of Vasili’s head. Rahadin can see Vasili’s eyes go wide in response. “You lookin’ to share the spoils?”

The fingers on Rahadin's left hand itch to draw his scimitar from its sheath. It would be so easy to kill them where they stand, he thinks. Slice off a limb, pierce their vulnerable heart, have the floor flow red with their unworthy blood. It would be so easy. They hadn't thought to wear armor, not even leather. Their mistake. If only they knew whose presence they were in; they wouldn't be so eager to talk about his master as if he were a mere _toy._

For another time. He wouldn't ruin this for Strahd. “Yes,” Rahadin breathes. The slight fluttering of Vasili’s eyelids does not go unnoticed by him. Undoing the fastenings to his trousers, Rahadin pulls out his own manhood and steps forward. 

Vasili pulls off of the woodcutter with an exaggerated hum of pleasure. “I had a feeling you wouldn't refuse my offer,” Vasili purrs. His eyes trail from Rahadin’s face down towards his erection and he can't help but feel a bit self-conscious. “I'm glad you didn't disappoint me.”

“I must say, I was surprised to find you already in the midst of coupling when I showed up. I had expected at least a few moments of you romancing your playthings first.” Emboldened, Rahadin presses the tip of his manhood to the vampire's lips.

Glancing up at him with a knowing smirk, Vasili takes him into his mouth with a content sigh.

Rahadin gasps and rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling at the feeling of his master's tongue and lips on him. His mouth is cold, unnatural even with the disguise, but he can't find the will to care when Vasili’s attentions are sending chills up his spine. 

He's gotten better.

Like that, the sensation is gone as Vasili is ripped from him by the scribe, who nudges Vasili towards his own hips. Instead, his mouth is replaced by a cold tentative hand and unpracticed strokes along his length.

“Feel free to be rough with him. He loves it,” Rahadin, remembering his last encounter with the vampire, tells the man currently receiving Vasili’s attention; Revenge for Strahd putting him up to this task in the first place. The words sound foreign coming out of his own mouth. Vasili’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and the grip around his length tightens threateningly. The warning is cut short by the scribe starting to thrust his hips forward, gentle at first but with increasing fervor. Rahadin revels in the small moans coming from Vasili.

“Likes it rough, hm?” The woodcutter addresses Vasili. ”Are you ready for some cock inside you, lad?” 

His words make the tips of Rahadin's ears burn all the hotter. _What the hells was he doing?_ This was no place for him; he didn't belong in the midst of such depraved activities. The idea of… _this_ hadn't even crossed his mind. Yet the way his lord's eyes go half-lidded and the way he hesitantly shakes his head yes, another man's sex still in his mouth, keeps his feet planted. Rahadin can't help but wonder if this kind of depravity is what Strahd had had in mind all along and it makes his manhood twitch with curious interest.

“Good. Take your clothes off.” 

This isn't Strahd; this is Vasili von Holtz. Vasili is open to being commanded and pushed around—within reason. The man can pretend to have an air of authority over Vasili that he could never have over Strahd. If Strahd is opposed to being treated like a common whore, he doesn't say anything.

Vasili pulls off of the man with an obscene slurping sound. His lips, full and red with the illusion of life, are wet with drool. They catch the warm glow of lantern light and Rahadin's eyes flick to them.

Vasili does as instructed and goes to remove his clothes. Several belts and his leather boots are followed by leather gauntlets and a heavy black coat. Too many damn clothes for his liking. Vasili continues out peeling off clothes layer by layer and neatly folding them until he is left in just his braies. 

His body is lean and tan, so unlike the normal ghastly pale skin that Rahadin had grown to admire. Vasili was still the same height as his master, however. Still the same taught battle-hardened figure he had grown so accustomed to during his centuries of service. 

Vasili reaches into one of the pouches on his discarded belt, retrieves a small vial of clear liquid, and hands it to him. Rahadin eyes the vial with a quirked eyebrow and looks back up at Vasili.

“Lubricant,” he responds matter-of-factly and narrows his eyes at him.

“Oh.” Of course. That alone is enough to answer Rahadin's previous question.

The larger of the two men comes over and pushes Vasili back against the bed. He reaches a hand down to undo the fastenings of his braies. “Get on your hands and knees for me, love. Up on the bed.”

Vasili shoots Rahadin a quick wide-eyed look and licks his lips. His fingers are tapping against the side of his thigh.

His lord Strahd, of all people, is nervous. The realization hits him in the gut like a pound of rocks. Rahadin does his best to send him the most reassuring look he can muster, even as Vasili climbs up onto the bed and onto his hands and knees like he's been sentenced to hang. 

“There we go. Show that pretty arse to me.” The woodcutter reaches a hand out towards Rahadin, palm side up.

Rahadin’s eyebrows furrow at the extended hand. Humans could be so _rude._ He hands the vial to him anyway. While he would have loved to have been the first, he has no experience in such matters. Better to observe and learn first.

Hopping up onto the bed until he's situated behind Vasili, the man uncorks the vial and pours some of the liquid onto a finger. He presses it against Vasili's entrance and slowly pushes in. Vasili lets out a sharp hiss and goes to pull away, but the man's grip on his hips is firm. His nails dig into the sheets until his knuckles are white as the finger is pumped in and out of him.

“Just put it in already!” Vasili snaps. His voice cracks with barely-restrained composure.

“Not until you’re warmed up proper,” says the larger man. He's pouring the lubricant onto a second finger. “This may be uncomfortable, but it'll feel good soon once you get stuffed with some cock.”

Vasili's mouth quickly snaps shut, any retort he had prepared now lost.

Rahadin’s eyes fall on the scribe. He had been quiet for a while, and he can see why; his chest is heaving as he strokes himself from the side of the bed, apparently enjoying the show of his master's discomfort. 

A sharp yelp from Vasili draws his attention back to them. Vasili's brows are upturned, his jaw slack. The earlier expression of what he could only describe as annoyance and mild anxiety has been replaced with one of pleasure.

“Whatever you did, do it again,” Vasili demands, breathless. All of the venom is gone from his voice.

The scribe laughs, a low bellowing sound. “Looks like you’ve found the right spot.” His eyes drop to Vasili's. “This the first time you've ever been on the receiving end?”

Vasili's eyes land on him with murderous intent before a gasp is pulled from him. He ruts back against the two fingers inside him.

Rahadin's manhood twitches at the noises coming out of his master's mouth. He quite likes this duality, he decides; an intimidating and deadly mass of a man that demanded the respect of Barovia, yet incredibly erotic and alluring if you were one of the lucky few to witness him with his walls down. 

“Hey, elf boy.”

Rahadin is pulled from his thoughts and tries not to draw ire from the nickname. He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement at the larger man, whose eyes are on him even as his fingers slide in and out of Vasili.

“You look like a lost puppy over there,” he says. ”Do you want to go first?”

A scathing remark is about to come out of his mouth before it dawns on him exactly what the man is implying.

_Oh._

Any words that had been on his tongue are lost. Instead, he babbles something incomprehensible—he’s sure of it due to the way the man tilts his head back and chuckles. If Vasili notices, he does not say anything, just keeps repeatedly pressing back against his fingers until he finally pulls them out. Vasili lets out a grunt of displeasure and shoots an irritated glare at Rahadin; had the context been different, the look would have had him fearing for his life.

Rahadin responds with a curt nod of his head and joins the man at the foot of the bed. He hops off of the bed and the woodcutter hands the vial of lubricant to him with a slap to the back—with the same hand that had been inside of Strahd, Rahadin notes with hidden disgust—before hopping up onto the side of the bed instead.

Taking a pointer from the other man, Rahadin pours the lubricant into his hand and runs it along his length. With a shaky breath, he presses the tip to Vasili's entrance. “May I...?” he breathes, and _gods_ he hopes that he says yes. 

“The art of spontaneity is lost on you.” Rather than answering his question, Vasili presses back until the head of his length slips inside him. 

Rahadin lets out a stuttering breath at the feeling; his insides are cold with undeath but he can't help the groan that slips past his lips. The vampire feels so different in comparison to the women he had bedded...

Vasili's back dips and Rahadin can hear him inhale sharply out of pure instinct. A part of him feels guilty about causing him pain, no matter how fleeting it may be. He had wanted this, though, and who was he to tell the lord of Barovia no? 

After a few moments to let him adjust to his girth, Rahadin pushes further. 

“Gods, you feel good…” Rahadin mutters past gritted teeth. 

Strahd responds by shooting him a spiteful look over his shoulder. The depths of his eyes flash red for a split second. “Glad you're—hah—enjoying yourself at my expense…”

The larger man grins at Rahadin. “He's an awfully prickly pup, isn't he?”

Rahadin has to resist the urge to reach across and backhand the man for his insolence.

“Don't worry, we'll make you feel good soon enough.” The bed groans and shifts beneath the man as he sidles up to Vasili on his knees. He takes his manhood in hand and presses it to Vasili's lips. “I can think of a better use for that foul mouth of yours, though. Open up.”

The way his nails dig threateningly into the bed sheets is not lost to Rahadin. Vasili opens his mouth anyway and the man is quick to stuff his mouth with his manhood and thrust his hips.

Rahadin reaches around and wraps his own fist around Vasili's erection, starts to pleasure him. Only when he sees the tension in his lean back muscles start to ebb does he bury himself the rest of the way into the nobleman and his mind goes blank.

Vasili grunts around the length in his mouth and bucks his hips slightly.

“‘Atta boy, take it all.” The larger man cups Vasili’s face and strokes at a high cheekbone with his thumb, his manhood still in his mouth. “Bet you love feeling so full.”

Rahadin wishes he could see Vasili's face, to judge his reaction and see if he was enjoying himself as much as he was. If he was going too fast. Only so much could be inferred by his muffled noises. Tentatively, he starts to move his hips—small motions to start. He assumes that Strahd is just as new to this as he is, but he has been wrong before. He slides into him, and Vasili dips his back and moans. 

He pulls off enough to talk. “More of that,” Vasili demands, his deep voice a breathy rasp.

Rahadin chuckles quietly and trails blunt nails down his back. “Anything for you.” With that, he repeats the motion and elicits a string of trembling curses from Vasili. 

He glances over at the other man—the scribe. His eyes are scanning over the scene before him while he continues to pleasure himself by the side of the bed. Rahadin steels himself and beckons to the man. “Wouldn't you rather have your cock sucked than stand over there by your lonesome? No need to be shy.” His own lewd words feel foreign on his tongue. _This is what Strahd wants,_ he has to remind himself. If his lord wants to be degraded by a harem of humans, then that is exactly what he shall have.

The man doesn't say a word, just gives Rahadin a lop-sided grin and crawls up onto the bed until his hips are in front of Vasili. Vasili is quick to wrap a hand around the other man in lieu of his mouth and laps at the head of the scribe’s length before taking him into his mouth.

Rahadin can feel heat starting to build in his core. It's too soon; he doesn't want to finish, not yet. But the little pleasured gasps coming out of Vasili's mouth, the way he tightens around him when he moves his hips just so, is overwhelming. “Gods,” he pants. “Str—Vasili… I'm, ah…” His tongue feels thick in his mouth and words refuse to come to him.

“Finishing that soon, lad?” The woodcutter asks with a chuckle. He has one hand around the back of Vasili's head to keep him in place. “Must be damn good. Can't wait to try him for myself.”

The resulting muffled moan that comes out of Vasili's mouth is enough to send the dusk elf over the edge. He grips the nobleman’s hips with both hands and pulls him tight against his hips. White-hot pleasure explodes in his core and washes over his body while he finishes inside him with a grunt. He sees a small shudder tear through Vasili's tense body as he fills him with his seed.

“Damn…” Rahadin releases his grip on Vasili's hips to brush long strands of hair back away from his sweat-drenched face. He pulls out and tucks himself back into his trousers. His whole body feels exhausted and overheated.

Vasili pulls away enough to shoot Rahadin a withering glare over his shoulder. “I'm not finished,” he says dryly upon seeing the dusk elf pull away, and Rahadin's stomach sinks.

The woodcutter lets out a breathy laugh. “Good thing it's my turn, then. We’ll fill you with so much cock you won't be able to walk in the morning. Outta the way, elf boy.”

Rahadin is too mortified by the man's words to oppose and clears out of his way. The woodcutter walks around to the end of the bed, grabs Vasili by the ankles, and pulls his legs out from beneath him. He pulls him to the edge of the bed and flips him over onto his back as if he weighs as much as a rag doll. Reaching for the half-empty bottle of lubricant, the woodcutter slicks himself up before positioning himself between Vasili's legs and burying himself inside with a groan.

Rahadin much prefers this angle, he thinks. From the side of the bed he can see the look of content bliss on Vasili's face and the way his eyes roll back into his head when the other man brushes against a sensitive spot inside him. The tempting sight of Vasili—Strahd—unabashedly enjoying himself would be something that he would remember for a long time.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Rahadin reaches across the bed and wraps a hand around Vasili's length. The nobleman gives him an appreciative glance before a string of curses tears him away. He has given up on trying to pleasure the scribe. Instead, he lets his head loll back onto the bed, his eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed. The scribe hovers over Vasili. Apparently unfazed, he returns to pleasuring himself, his blue eyes trained on Vasili’s face.

“Don't you dare stop,” the nobleman demands behind clenched teeth, and Rahadin isn't sure if he's talking to him or the man taking him from behind. His fingers dig into the sheets until his knuckles become white, his eyes closed.

“Wouldn't dream of it, love.” The woodcutter has his hands wrapped around Vasili's hips and he's pulling him hard into each thrust.

“Are you close?” Rahadin asks in a hushed voice. He can see Vasili's prominent Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows and nods his head. His eyes are still clamped shut. With newfound bravado, Rahadin doubles his efforts.

Vasili opens his eyes just enough to make fleeting eye contact before his back arches sharply, his eyes rolling back. His mouth is open in a silent scream as his orgasm takes him and he is the most beguiling creature the dusk elf has ever seen. He bucks his hips slightly and Rahadin's eyes go wide as Vasili’s seed spills over his hand. The illusion surrounding Vasili’s body flickers for the briefest of moments, and Rahadin is staring at the blissful face of Strahd before it's back to the mask of the nobleman.

Rahadin glances at the two humans to see if they have noticed; they're absorbed in chasing their own climax and do not seem to be any the wiser. _Good._

Judging by the breathy grunts coming from the woodcutter, he's nearing completion as well. “Finish nice and hard on this cock—just like that...” The man pulls out of Vasili and strokes himself until he's finishing on the nobleman's stomach with a groan.

Vasili lays there and takes it with a lascivious smirk on his face. _Like some harlot,_ Rahadin thinks for a moment, but he's quick to shake the intrusive thought away. While he had known that his master enjoyed bedding attractive strangers he would find in the villages before feasting on their blood, he’d had no idea that his debauchery extended this far. It seemed so unlike the normally immaculate and standoffish vampire—but he wasn't complaining. He quite enjoyed seeing this side of Strahd, if he was being honest.

A low keen from the scribe pulls Rahadin from his thoughts. His mouth hangs open as he strokes himself just beside Vasili's face, his motions desperate and erratic. Vasili turns his gaze to Rahadin. Never breaking eye contact, Vasili opens his mouth and unabashedly lets the scribe finish. His seed spills over his lips and onto Vasili’s waiting tongue and Rahadin has to turn away to hide the choked noise he makes. 

“Must you always threaten my own modesty with your...” the dusk elf flips his hand, searching for a word, “salaciousness?” He whispers the words. They are meant for Strahd, but he could not care less if the others hear him. Strahd knows exactly what he’s doing, how much he is tormenting his sensibilities. 

Strahd merely hums in reply. 

“Absolutely terrible is what you are.” Rahadin ignores his low chuckle—he’s very satisfied with himself by the sound of it—to wipe his hands off on the kerchief in his breast pocket. A malicious-sounding chuckle from the scribe draws his attention to him. The scribe has a smirk on his face as he tucks himself back into his pants, shaking his head all the while. 

“Disgusting,” is all he says. 

Rahadin can immediately feel the mood in the room change as Vasili’s eyes narrow in on the man like a bird of prey. His hackles are raised. “I’m sorry, was spilling your filth across my bare face without my permission insufficient for you?”

“Seemed like you enjoyed it well enough to me—what with the way you lapped it up like a dog and all.”

Vasili is quick to pull himself out from beneath the woodcutter’s legs and onto his knees. Like this, he’s almost a head taller than the scribe. He says nothing but keeps his gaze on the man, waiting for him to open his mouth again. The woodcutter looks between them, just as confused as Rahadin feels at that moment. Even in disguise, Strahd’s gaze is enough to make even the strongest of men crumble. The scribe appears to disagree. 

The scribe continues, “What would your master think if he knew you sought out the company of complete strangers, _Von Holtz_?” He hisses his name. “Or let them finish on your face like some back-alley whore? Are all of Strahd’s minions harlots, or just you two? _”_ He quickly glances at Rahadin. “And don't think I don't know about you, dusk elf. Bunch of disgusting degenerates, the both of you. Thanks for the lay, but I don't think you'll be reporting back to your master after this.” 

With that, the scribe pulls a knife out from his boot and brandishes it at Vasili. The woodcutter lets out a panicked yelp and dives off of the bed. Rahadin glances between the knife, the scribe, and back to Vasili. He almost can’t believe it—that this mortal would have the _audacity_ to try and threaten his master with a mere toy. For someone who spent his time writing and reading, Rahadin notes, he holds the knife without the slightest tremor in his hand. _Clearly he is unaware of just who he is threatening._

Vasili lifts his chin at the knife being pointed at his chest, wordless for several moments before speaking up. “Count Strahd von Zarovich, ruler of Barovia and the reason this pathetic town is still standing, is very aware of his minions’, shall we say, _proclivities._ You could say he's intimately familiar with them. _”_ Rahadin's face grows hot at the comment. His eyes are glued to the scene unfolding before him. 

“And I speak on his behalf when I say he is very much displeased with your ignorance.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Vasili approaches the man on his knees and doesn’t stop when the tip of the knife digs into his breastbone. He doesn’t stop when it pierces his flesh and embeds itself an inch deep into his chest. Blood begins to well up at the wound and drip onto the hilt of the blade but Vasili appears as unfazed as ever. Rahadin cannot say the same for the other man, however. His eyes have gone wide, his jaw slack. His hand tremors while wielding the hilt of the knife.

The facade of Vasili von Holtz fades away like wax on a candle until the pale face of Strahd is staring back at the man, his black eyes humorless once more. Even while nude, Rahadin can’t help but note how intimidating the vampire is when he is irate. 

“M-My lord Strahd,” the scribe stutters out. His whole body is shaking now with the fear of a man who knows he is staring death in the eye. “I had no idea it was you. F-Forgive me! If I had known—“

“You knew that both Von Holtz and Rahadin here were in my employ and yet you still had the audacity to not only disrespect them, but threaten their lives. Disrespect to them is blatant disrespect to me, as well.” Strahd turns his gaze towards the woodcutter, who is currently cowering beside the bed. Their eyes meet as Strahd extends his influence over him. “Edgar, stand and guard the door, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, Lord Strahd.”

Like a flash of lightning, Strahd is on the scribe. An arm wraps around him and pulls him tight against his chest. The man’s sobbed apologies fall on deaf ears, his thrashing useless in his vice-like grip. Strahd's fangs sink into the man's throat like butter. A sharp exhale gurgles from his mouth as Strahd greedily drinks from the wound until the man’s flesh is as pale as the bedsheets. Finally, he releases his hold on the scribe. His body falls to the floor with a thud, lifeless.

Strahd straightens back up and wipes at his blood-stained mouth with the back of his hand, licking at his fangs with a long tongue. Even while nude, he is an intimidating spectacle to behold. Blood drips down his chin and onto the pale expanse of his chest. 

Rahadin tries to keep his focus on that rather than the impressive erection he is still sporting. 

Strahd gestures to the other man—Edgar, Rahadin remembers—and he, trance-like and unsuspecting like many of the vampire's victims, walks over to him without question. He’s far too gentle with this one, feeding only enough for him to fall unconscious but not enough to kill. Once Strahd has had his fill, he gingerly lays the man’s body down onto the bed as if he weighs no more than a doll.

“You spared this one,” Rahadin notes with a nod towards Edgar’s sleeping form. “Why?”

Strahd shrugs and begins reaching for his discarded clothes. “He did nothing wrong. Plus, I may have need of his services again one day.”

 _“Services.”_ The dusk elf can’t help but scoff at that. “Is that your way of saying that it was good?”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.” Strahd slips the jacket that his alter ego had been wearing back over his broad shoulders. “Far better than I had been expecting for my first time.”

Feeling a sudden burst of courage, Rahadin takes a deep breath and steels himself. “If you're ever interested in, ah, trying this again, I’d be more than happy to lend you my services as well.”

Strahd _laughs_ at that, a rich melodious sound. It hurts his ego just a little bit—not that he would ever admit it. “And you call me the harlot!”

“I didn't—”

“I will keep that in mind. Though I feel it may not be healthy for me to keep being intimate with my chamberlain. Some may begin to think that you have fallen for me.” He smirks teasingly, but Rahadin can see the seriousness in his eyes. Something in his chest sinks at that—an unnamable feeling. A part of him wants to point out that their past three encounters had been initiated by the vampire, but he knows that Strahd would not look upon his boldness fondly.

“I understand.”

“I appreciate you arranging this for me, though. Truly, I do.” Strahd buckles the last of his belts into place with a motion of finality. “In regards to the matter of your payment, is it fair to say that allowing you to be the first man inside me is sufficient?” He winks at that. His words are unwavering as he speaks, spoken with the confidence of someone who has lived for centuries and seemingly lost all sense of shame. Unlike Rahadin, whose heart feels like it is going to pound out of his chest, he shows no signs of embarrassment.

Words refuse to come to the dusk elf. All he feels he can do is nod his head in acknowledgment.

“Good. Let us get out of here then before Edgar’s wife comes prowling around looking for him.”

“Of course, my lord.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Here's another 6,000+ words of feelings and smut because I feel no shame
> 
> Also: shoutout to penstrokes14 for the idea!

_The room smells of iron, of sex and sweat and so much blood running over the floorboards and pooling beneath cold, lifeless bodies. His own clothes reek of it: human blood. He can feel his own blood oozing from an open wound on his shoulder where a blade had broken skin. The wound stings, but his mind is too preoccupied to pay it much heed._

_Cruel, teasing hands explore his body. The suffocating weight on top of him, covered in blood he had spilled, smears it onto his clothes and armor that had been pristine not thirty minutes ago._

_He can taste the blood on his fingers. Acrid, cold, yet an unavoidable part of the curse that sustains him. He looks at him curiously, approvingly, an unspoken question on pale lips. A look of sheer hunger in his dark eyes that is all-consuming. Teeth and claws and pain masked by pleasure. For a split second, he fears for his life yet he finds himself melting into death’s embrace. Lips pressed against his._

_“I've never tasted a dusk elf’s blood before…”_

“Strahd!” Rahadin gasps and his eyes snap open. He’s in his quarters at Ravenloft, seated back in reality. His clothes are pristine and blue once more—not an ounce of blood to be found. Yet he can still feel the ghost of fangs at his throat and he instinctively wraps a light hand around his neck. There's a light sheen of sweat on his skin, he notes with a frown. 

This is the second time in the last week his thoughts have shifted to Strahd. The elven trance was supposed to be a time to collect one’s thoughts and reflect upon past experiences. Study them. Improve. Yet no matter how hard he tried to focus on the previous days’ events, _his_ face was always there. It was frustrating. It felt like a disservice to not only himself but his master as well if he could not collect himself enough for a damn trance! His attention hadn't been this bad since he was a mere boy experiencing his First Reflection. He'd had over five centuries to perfect the art and yet now...

Rahadin buries his face in his hands, exasperated. This was getting out of hand. His concentration had never been as bad as it had been for the past two months…

There is a loud knocking at his door. Rahadin glares at the door, willing whoever is behind it to leave him be. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea of answering the door in his current, frankly _embarrassing,_ state.

“Yes?” Be finally calls out when it is obvious that his visitor is not leaving any time soon.

More knocking, louder this time. “Rahadin.”

Strahd's voice.

It's enough to make him quickly jump from his chair and hurry to throw open the door.

Strahd stares back at him with an agitated look on his face. “I've knocked several times.”

_“_ My apologies, my lord. I was collecting my thoughts.”

“Ah.” Strahd unclenches his jaw. “I apologize if I have interfered with your odd…” Strahd flips his hand, searching for a word, “ _trance._ That is what you call it, yes?”

“You call my ancestral talent for reflecting upon the past odd, and yet you, Master, sleep in a coffin filled with dirt.” Rahadin shoots him a teasing smile. He is one of the blessed few who can get away with such behavior. “I don't believe you are in a position to tell me what is _odd_.”

Finally, Strahd’s stoic expression gives and Rahadin notices the way the corners of his mouth upturn just a bit. “Fair enough. Anyway,” Strahd goes to adjust the cuff of his doublet, “I was planning on making a trip to Vallaki in half an hour to attend to some business regarding a certain trio of adventurers that I allowed into my land. Would you like to accompany me?” His voice lowers. “Tatyana is with them.”

While normally he would love nothing more than to accompany his master out, especially when there is the potential for bloodshed, his gut twists at the idea, especially in his current state. Some emotion that he can't quite identify nibbles at his stomach like a trapped rat. It only grows worse when his gaze meets Strahd's. He needs time to sort himself out lest he embarrass himself further.

“Unfortunately, I must decline this time. I am not feeling well.” It is partially the truth. 

“How unfortunate.” Rahadin doesn’t miss the slight flash of annoyance—disappointment?—on his master’s face. “I was looking forward to catching up with you. It's been… a while since we've last talked to one another for longer than a brief moment in passing.”

“Yes, It has.” Again, that gnawing feeling in his stomach. 

“Well. I hope you feel better soon. It does me no good to have my chamberlain out of commission, after all.” His gaze is piercing. “I will return shortly, ideally with Taty in tow. I trust you to keep an eye on things in my absence?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Strahd nods his head in parting. He casts him one last unreadable look before turning away. 

As soon as the door is closed, Rahadin lets out a deep breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Within the past hour alone he feels as if he has aged considerably. 

———

_731 Barovian Calendar, Barovia_

Tatyana was not to be found, much to my disappointment. However, I did happen upon the three adventurers—unsuspecting as ever. Apparently, they were unaware of my ability to travel in the daytime and were caught very much off guard. The look of unbridled terror on their faces as I emerged from the forest, a pack of wolves at my heels, was one that I will remember for years to come. 

They thought that they could outmatch me. Adventurers new to my land always do. They forget that I am everywhere. I am the rolling fogs that sweep through Barovia. I am the rains that both nourish and flood. I am the wind that freezes them to their core, the eyes and ears of the land. I _am_ the land. And yet they believe their steel and pitiful attempts at the arcane are a match for me.

Their last mistake.

I am merciful, however, when the mood strikes me. I killed only one of their party members this time—an elf. Like the dusk elves, this elf had the typical pointed ears and flawless complexion but was of alabaster skin and silver hair. Very exotic looking. They were from a land far from Barovia, no doubt. It is a shame this elf decided to throw themselves at me like some barbarian. I would have enjoyed learning more about their culture from beyond the fog.

Upon my return, I asked Rahadin if he knew of any other subcultures of elves. I could sense a certain anxiety pulsing through his body at the question. His heartbeat was rabbit quick as he spoke to me. I found this surprising as Rahadin is typically hard to excite. I have seen him murder entire mobs of people without so much as breaking a sweat. The dusk elf is good at what he does—unparalleled, even. His apprehensiveness would not have been as much a concern had it only been the first time it had happened. I approached him again the next day under the guise of asking him to do a task for me, and again his heart rate accelerated. He struggled to make eye contact.

I know that he cares deeply for me. One would not tolerate walking the same halls as the undead unless they did care for them. Only Rahadin stood by my side after my transformation by Vampyre. When even my own soldiers pierced my heart with arrows, he remained.

I worry that us having been intimate has… complicated things. My intentions had been purely sexual in nature—a moment of bliss to fend off that damned human urge. Nothing was to come of it and yet I feel something has changed in our relationship. He is a fierce warrior, yet he always has been a bit prudish and shy when it came to the matter of feelings. I can only hope that I did not offend his sensibilities enough to have created distance between us.

At the same time, I know he had craved the intimacy as much as I did. I could feel it in the way his body shivered beneath mine, or the way he melted into my embrace and trusted me enough to kiss the warm velvet of his throat. After having not lain with a woman in potentially decades, it would not surprise me if he were severely starved for touch. 

His office affords him little affection, which certainly does not help matters. I would not disprove of my chamberlain taking a spouse—it would even do him some good, I feel. Yet he is so dedicated to his work that I rarely see him engage in activities for pleasure. It must be an elf thing, for any other man surely would have died of boredom in the same circumstances. 

Yet there was something else behind our intimacy. There was a look of fierce possessiveness in his eyes during our coupling with the two men at the tavern. I could see the disappointment in his body language afterwards when I pointed out my concerns in potentially being seen being intimate with my chamberlain. He tried to hide it, but when one has lived as long as I have you begin to develop the ability to read others like a book. It is essential to one’s survival, even when you are the most dangerous thing in the land. 

I find myself struggling to understand the inner complexities of my friend and why he has been acting so strange as of late. Whenever I develop one hypothesis, I seemingly always find contradictory evidence that suggests otherwise.

I will confront him about it tomorrow. I need my men to be able to look me in the eye if they are to be in my employ.

——--

_He says something that he can't understand—what sounds like an incantation of some sorts—and snaps his fingers. A spectral hand forms in the air. It is not attached to an arm, but it can move all of its fingers independently as if it has a mind of its own._

_Strahd has stopped chanting. Instead, he is reclining in the chair again, one leg crossed over the other, with a glass of wine in one hand. There's what looks like the ghost of a smile on his face and his eyes are glued to his body._

_The spectral hand moves forward, slow, and brushes against his engorged length—damn traitorous body!—and he can't help the resulting yelp that comes out of his mouth. He wants to grit his teeth or bite his lip or something to stay quiet, but the magic holds strong and he is unable to move his body. Strahd must have found it amusing, because his smirk has evolved into a grin. The protrusion of his fangs is barely visible against his bottom lip._

_The thumb of the spectral hand rubs against him and it's enough to make little pinpoint stars dance before his eyes. He hates this teasing, hates the way his body is responding to the, frankly, cruel attention._

_Strahd’s pupils are blown and he's taken to looking over his body like a wolf with a piece of meat. It is clear that he's enjoying the show._

_“No need to be shy with me. I adore hearing how good I make you feel,” says Strahd._

_He wants to offer some snide remark, but the words come out as an embarrassing whimper from the back of his throat. He can hear Strahd shift in his seat. Opening his eyes, he can see that he’s uncrossed his legs and is sitting with his legs spread. His sex is a prominent bulge against the confines of his trousers. It's enough to offend his modesty and he quickly glances away, a fierce flush on his face_

_Strahd must have noticed his gaze because he chuckles lowly. “You are absolutely beguiling when flushed. I could watch you tremble in the throes of passion for days and never grow tired. But,” his gaze darkens, the corners of his mouth still upturned slightly, “I’m sure you would grow tired of this teasing when I could give you so much more.”_

Rahadin snaps back to the present with a small start. His body is warm and content and— _damn it all_ —aroused by the memory, This was growing tiresome _very_ quickly. While it was nice being able to experience what had been, honestly, very enjoyable memories, Rahadin was tired of coming out of a trance with an erection like some awkward adolescent who had never lain with another before! He was over five centuries old, not… 20! This was not befitting of one of his stature! 

It was beginning to affect his day-to-day functioning. His mind found no rest in these memories. If anything, it made his thought process more chaotic. It was making him jittery and careless throughout the day. Despite it having been several months since he had last been intimate with Strahd, his mind still clung desperately to those memories. During his trance, he could navigate his thoughts for a brief period—yesterday's work, recent battles, important conversations—but they always drifted back to _him._

It was improper. His master had made his intentions clear enough. Like this, he was a burden. Emotions, real or not, were a liability and Strahd rightfully had concerns that others may look negatively upon them. Use them as blackmail, perhaps. He refused to bring shame to the Von Zarovich name.

He would have been content in just admiring from afar as he had always done. Yet Strahd had initiated each encounter… The lord of Barovia always had been particularly hard to read. But what did it mean that he had initiated? Was the shame really upon him if he had had no intention in acting upon his desires?

_Gods._ He hates this.

He needs to bathe, to take his mind off of the matters at hand. He can only imagine that he looks as slovenly as he feels. Already his long hair is damp with sweat and he crinkles his nose as he brushes it away from his face.

With a sigh, the dusk elf exits his study and prepares for the long trek up to the washroom. As he rounds the corner to the stairs, he almost runs square into a figure leaning against the wall. Rahadin is mere moments away from lashing out at whoever in the Nine Hells thought it would be a good idea to stand where people walk before he realizes just who it is. 

It's Strahd. His arms are crossed before him and he looks as regal as ever. He quirks a raven-colored eyebrow as Rahadin skids to a halt mere inches before him.

“Forgive me, my lord. I had not seen you there!”

“Verily.” Strahd waves a dismissive hand at him, and Rahadin can breath again knowing that he has not incurred his wrath. He continues, “Actually, I was hoping to catch you. I did not want to interrupt your _obligations,_ however.”

Perhaps it is him just being paranoid, but the way he emphasizes the word with just the slightest curl of his lips makes him wonder if he knew he had been—no. It must be him being paranoid. 

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? Am I interrupting something?” Strahd asks.

“No. Of course not, my lord. I was merely off to go bathe.”

“I see.” Strahd is silent for several moments, as if deep in thought, before he speaks up again. “May I join you?”

The question catches him off guard and his eyes go wide. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“I was planning on bathing this evening, anyway. Might as well do so while enjoying the company.” Strahd winks at that, and Rahadin’s stomach feels like it is going to fall through the floor.

For once, he has no response. What would one even say in such a situation? While normally he would not say no to such a proposition, the inconsistencies in Strahd’s sentiments make him hesitate. Strahd had previously said that the two of them should cease being intimate, yet now he was asking to join him in something that, if he was reading him right, sounded _very_ intimate. 

Perhaps he is testing him; it is the only conclusion that his overworked brain can reach. 

Rahadin inhales sharply. “I, ah… We shouldn’t. As you said, it may not behoove you to continue being intimate with your chamberlain.” His gaze drops. At that moment, he wishes he could be in any other room besides that awkward hallway. 

“We do not have to be intimate. We can merely chat with one another.”

It almost sounds like desperation in his voice, but Rahadin knows that the lord of Barovia rarely experiences such emotions. Again, he is speechless but he knows that if he allows the silence to stretch on between them it will only cause more tension. “I must pass this time.”

“There it is again.” His lips press together in a thin line and his jaw clenches. “You've been acting strange lately. Distant.”

_He's noticed. “_ Think nothing of it, my lord. I am… working through some personal concerns as of late.”

“Let's discuss it. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

As much as he admires the man, Strahd is the last person that he wants to discuss his feelings with. He had never had much patience for such matters. “It is nothing to concern yourself with.”

Rahadin bows his head and goes to step around Strahd, but the lord of Barovia sidesteps along with him, effectively blocking his path. “It is a concern of mine because it is affecting the quality of your work. You're hiding something from me,” Strahd states matter-of-factly. There is no humor in his voice. “Is this about us having been intimate?”

Rahadin sets him with a look that borders on pleading. “Strahd, please believe me when I say it is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He goes to move again. Like a shadow, Strahd is right there in front of him. 

“Or a lack thereof as of late?”

Rahadin turns around. As he rounds the corner, Strahd is standing there again.

_“Talk to me, Rahadin.”_

Strahd fixes him with a piercing look, the one he has come to recognize over the years as him extending his influence. Something prods at the edge of his mind and demands to be let in.

“Stop that!” Rahadin snaps. He shakes his head until he can feel the fingers snake away. There is an unmistakable swell of anger beginning to rise in his stomach. “For gods’ sake, Strahd, must you try and do that to me of all people? Perhaps, just once, I would like my thoughts to be my own!”

Strahd's body suddenly stiffens like that of a threatened deer and his eyes go wide. His voice is flat. “You love me. You believe so, anyway.” 

_“Bullshit!”_ Rahadin spits, no longer bothering to restrain himself. How dare he! How dare he not trust him enough to try and dig into the thoughts in his head! After all he had done to prove his loyalty, no less!

“You cannot put a word to it—deny it, even—but what I gleaned had the distinct resonance of love.” Strahd’s stunned expression changes and he is _laughing_ at him. It sounds cruel and harsh to his ears. “Wow! You of all people—love! For me! I am shocked, truly. I did not think you capable of such feelings!”

“How dare you attempt to put a word to that in which you do not understand!” His anger is getting the better of him, he knows, but he is too frustrated (ashamed?) with the entire situation at that moment to care.

Strahd’s expression quickly hardens. “Mind your tongue, elf, lest I decide to stop taking pity on you. I understand love.” He speaks slowly, deliberately. “My transformation did not steal that aspect of humanity from me. I’ve been navigating the feeling for the past four centuries.” 

Rahadin, purely out of instinct, goes to apologize. He catches himself, but not before his voice cracks.

Strahd reaches a hand out towards him and Rahadin flinches away. He is _pitying him._ “I did not mean to laugh at you. I was merely... surprised.” He clears his throat. “We cannot choose who we love, whether that be some peasant girl betrothed to your brother... or the undead lord of Barovia.”

“Stop belittling me!” Rahadin snarls behind gritted teeth. “Do not try and console me as if you are my mother, Strahd von Zarovich!” Had this been anyone else, he no doubt would have physically lashed out at them by now. Beat them until they were pleading for mercy. Instead, he is left feeling trapped. He cannot raise a hand against him, yet Strahd would not permit him to walk away, either!

“My intention is not to belittle you, Rahadin. It is merely to reassure you.” He reaches another hand out towards his shoulder. Rahadin does not bother to shake it off this time, but merely bows his head. “You are not the first to have feelings for me, and you will not be the last. But understand that my heart belongs to Tatyana. Nothing will change that.”

“I know. My intention was never for this to become romantic. Or for my… traitorous _emotions_ to ever get in the way of my work or for you to ever find out or-or… I-I don't even know if what I feel is,” he gestures vaguely, “ _that.”_ Rahadin takes a deep breath. His heart feels like it is going to hammer out of his chest. “My intention was never for this to become… _intimate,_ either, yet here we are.”

“Yet here we are.” Strahd tilts his head slightly. His hand is still on his shoulder. “You've enjoyed our past couplings, however, yes?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“As have I.” The look in Strahd's eyes softens. “I would not protest if we were to continue doing so on the occasion.”

Rahadin grimaces. He still does not dare meet Strahd’s eyes. “What happened to you feeling it would not be healthy to continue being intimate with your chamberlain, or your concern that some may think that I have _fallen for you?”_ The words feel acidic on his tongue.

“I had my suspicions that was bothering you...” Strahd scoffs. “Yes, I do have my concerns about others hearing that Count Strahd von Zarovich occasionally fucks his dusk elf chamberlain—it would not do well for my public image, after all.” He smiles wryly at that, “but I do not see any harm in occasionally engaging in such acts behind closed doors. It’s an enjoyable way to pass the time.” He pulls his hand away. “If you are still interested, anyway.”

“To be honest, I have no idea how to respond,” Rahadin admits. While it would be nice, would it continue to distract him from his work? Would it only confuse matters even worse? Yes, he supposed that having sex could be just that: no emotional attachments, a way to pass the time, a stress-reliever, even…

As he is weighing his options, Strahd takes a step forward until Rahadin is forced to look up slightly at him. Strahd’s hands cup his face and he slowly, as to judge his reaction, presses their lips together. 

Rahadin freezes. “I still need to bathe,” he protests against Strahd's lips.

“Is that a no?”

“I… No, but I reek—“

“You smell fine. Be honest with me: are you still interested?” 

“...Ashamedly, yes.”

Strahd lets out a pleased hum and kisses him once more, deeper and longer than before. The lord of Barovia breaks away only to grab him and throws him over his shoulder as if he weighs no more than a ragdoll before carrying him back to Rahadin's study. The dusk elf loudly protests every step of the way (being carried is _humiliating)_ until Strahd not-so-gently sits him on his own desk. 

Strahd is quick to stand between his thighs and resume kissing him. Gods, how he'd missed this. It feels as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders in having Strahd still want him despite everything. Rahadin grabs Strahd's hips and pulls him closer. There is a fire already stoked in his belly. _He still wants him._

There's a moment where it's only mouths and tongues, and then Strahd’s deft fingers are on the fastening of his trousers and pushing his doublet aside. The layers of wool and furs are oppressively hot, suddenly, and everything is happening too fast, and Strahd’s calloused fingertips are teasingly circling at his hips—

“May I continue?” Strahd pulls away enough for their eyes to meet. 

There is a scathing remark at the tip of Rahadin's tongue—his patience isn't the greatest at that moment—but he quickly drops it at when he notices the earnest look Strahd sets him with. Instead, he swallows heavily and nods his head.

“Good.” A smirk plays at his thin lips and he's back to peppering kisses along his jaw and his neck. Strahd pulls him out of his pants. His grip is deceptively light when he strokes him yet it is still enough to send pleasure wracking through his body. He lets his head loll forward onto the vampire's chest because _gods_ , he doesn't think that he could concentrate even if he tried. Not like this. 

Strahd pulls his hand away and unties the fastening to his own trousers. Despite the darkness in the room, Rahadin can see just how erect his master already is when he pulls himself out. His face flushes and he glances away again. Strahd must have noticed his embarrassment because he chuckles lightly.

“I apologize. I don't, ah—”

“No need to apologize. I find your lack of experience endearing,” says Strahd. He wraps a loose fist around his own length and begins to stroke himself, never breaking eye contact.

“I am not _inexperienced..._ ” Rahadin murmurs, but he can tell from the unimpressed expression on his face that Strahd is not convinced. 

Swallowing heavily, Rahadin reaches a trembling hand out and wraps it around Strahd’s hand. The vampire inhales sharply and lifts an eyebrow at him. His hands feel unnaturally cold beneath his. Gingerly, Strahd replaces his hand on top before sliding their hands along his cock in unison. 

Strahd leans forward and rumbles into his ear, “Can I fuck you?”

“I, ah—me? Master?” Rahadin stammers. The question completely catches him off guard.

“I don't know who else I would be talking to.” Gently, he nips at the tip of his pointed ear. “I’d like to hear what kind of noises you can make for me when I’m fucking you into this desk...”

Words fail to come to him for several moments. He had never even considered doing something like… _that._ Something that wanton. To be fair, though, he had never pictured himself being intimate with a man before, yet here he was lusting after the man he'd spent the better part of his life serving. Life always did have an uncanny way of surprising him. And Strahd had given him the honor of being his first…

“You seem hesitant,” Strahd notes. He continues to touch himself. “You adjust to the pain quickly until it becomes quite pleasurable. I will, of course, be gentle for as long as you would like me to be. If you’d rather not, however, we can do something else.”

“I will… try it. Though I question whether it is half as enjoyable as you made it seem.”

A lascivious smile spreads across Strahd’s face. He doesn't say a word, but goes to undo the cloak at his shoulders. Taking the hint, Rahadin follows suit and strips down to his braies. Strahd stands between his parted legs and looks the dusk elf up and down, seemingly devouring him with his eyes. It makes Rahadin more than a little self-conscious as he has never been especially fond of his own wiry and scarred body. He feels especially aware of his own body when Strahd strips down before him. His body is hard from battle, lithe yet incredibly powerful. Rahadin gives into the temptation and runs his hands almost reverently along the prominent muscles of Strahd's chest. 

The lord of Barovia murmurs something and snaps his fingers. A luminescent blue hand forms seemingly out of thin air.

His face pales. “You are not putting that inside me.”

Strahd actually tips his head back and laughs. “I apologize, I assumed you’d be uncomfortable preparing yourself. It's not as good as the real thing, but it gets the job done. If you'd rather, I can use my fingers. Though my claws may make it uncomfortable—”

“It's fine. I will… do it myself.”

“Suit yourself. Lay back. I want to watch.” With that, Strahd reaches into his discarded clothes and retrieves a small vial. He places it in his hand and the dusk elf eyes it with suspicion. “I find it interesting that you had this on your person.”

“I like to come prepared.”

“I can see that.” Rahadin pops the cap to the vial and pours the lubricant onto a finger. He lets out a shaky breath. His only experience with this had been observing Strahd during one of their last encounters, in which the man from the tavern had worked his fingers into him. It appeared… uncomfortable, to say the least. Yet he lays back with his legs propped up on the desk and presses a finger to his entrance anyway.

Just as he'd expected, it's _very_ uncomfortable. The tips of his ears flush at the idea that his master is watching him do this, had actually _wanted_ to watch such an awkward act. He hears Strahd let out a low growl, his voice deep with lust, as he works a finger in and out of himself, then two. Just as he had observed.

As he does so, Strahd grabs the vial from beside the desk and begins to liberally slick up his own length. Rahadin's stomach drops at the realization that that is about to go inside him. 

“This may hurt a bit, but it will feel good soon, I promise,” Strahd states with confidence. He draws back enough to press himself just at his entrance and, without hesitation, pushes in. His breath hitches. It's only the head of his manhood, he knows, but it already feels like too much. It stretches him enough to make tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He'd felt pain before, but there is something different about this anxiety that is currently gnawing at his stomach.

Strahd hushes him—had he made a noise?—and brushes a strand of hair away from his face. “Breathe.”

“It won't fit,” the dusk elf protests.

“Give it time. You're doing wonderful.”

“ _Strahd, it won't fit!”_ His voice jumps an octave.

The first push makes them both freeze. Rahadin’s breath comes out in heavy gasps, his brown eyes wide. Slowly, Strahd begins to thrust forward, sliding in until he has finally bottomed out and they're both panting for entirely different reasons. 

Strahd’s brows knit and his features are painted with a look of sheer bliss. “See?” he pants, a coy smile playing at his lips. “It fits.”

Rahadin has to resist the urge to curse at the vampire. This was no time for his game of I told-you-so, not when it felt like he was being split apart! “Give me… Give me a moment,” he all but growls from behind gritted teeth, inhaling sharply. His insides burn and throb from the intrusion inside him. Too much all at once. He has no idea how he is going to move it inside him if it'd been so difficult getting it there in the first place. 

Strahd leans down and kisses him deeply. His whole mouth is cold, unnatural—just like the rest of him. Rahadin finds that he cannot concentrate on the kiss, not with Strahd’s cock twitching inside him with every slight movement of his hips. Strahd mumbles something against his lips but he can't hear it past the blood pounding in his ears.

Strahd’s hand brushes against his cock. It's enough to make him jump at the small wave of pleasure in his core and Strahd lets out another breathy chuckle before beginning to run a loose fist along his length.

He closes his eyes and grits his teeth as Strahd slowly, _slowly_ starts to move his hips. It's small movements at first, but it's enough to reignite the stinging sensation inside him. His inner muscles clamp down in protest, he can feel, and Strahd throws his head back, his eyes half-lidded. 

“Gods, you feel even better than I had imagined,” he growls. His voice is low and husky with lust and it makes the fire in his belly burn all the hotter. 

Rahadin does his best to give a half-smile, but it comes out more akin to a sneer. The discomfort is eased slightly by the attention to his cock until he has grown used to the sensation of being filled. He feels ridiculous like this, but a part of him is glad that his master is enjoying himself. Gradually, discomfort turns to pleasure. Strahd is gentle, far more gentle than he had expected, and each slow drag past that spot of concentrated pleasure inside him is enough to make his back arch and his toes curl. 

Strahd merely smiles down at him in a way that suggests he knows just how much he is teasing him. He hates him for it.

“Gods—if you would like, you can, ah…”

“We really need to work on your bedroom talk.” There is a breathless quality to Strahd’s voice as he speaks. “That almost sounds like a request. Tell me what you want, Rahadin.”

He suppresses a shudder. “More.”

Strahd lets out a pleased hum that tapers off into a groan. “See? I told you that you would… hah.... grow to enjoy this in time...” His hands wrap around the back of his thighs just beneath his knees. He's quick to oblige and his drawn-out thrusts become faster, more forceful. 

The dusk elf gasps, desperate choked-off keening noises as Strahd ruts against him ruthlessly, pulling him back with every thrust and Rahadin just knows that his body is going to be sore tomorrow. Rahadin scrabbles at the wood of the desk in desperation every time Strahd slides inside. 

“M-Master…!” It’s too much. Strahd brushes against something inside him just right, enough to take his breath away, and suddenly his orgasm takes him. His mind goes blank and his eyes roll back as waves of overwhelming pleasure roll through his body while Strahd fucks him through his orgasm. His whimpers are loud in the small room and he swears that he hears Strahd snarl a string of obscenities under his breath before he is finishing inside him. 

Strahd leans over him and buries his face into the crook of his neck. The two of them bask in the comfortable silence for several moments, Strahd rocks gently into his sore body while they both come down from the post-orgasm bliss. The sound of Rahadin's own heavy breathing fills his ears. He is suddenly aware of just how much the room reeks of sex and sweat and whatever scented oils his lord wears. Tentatively, he reaches a hand up and trails his fingers through Strahd’s ebony hair.

For once, he feels content.

The intimate moment is over too soon. Rahadin winces when Strahd stands back up and pulls out out of his sore body.

“Well?” Strahd queries with a voice soft with affection after a moment.

Rahadin hums. “It's… different than what I am used to. But I ultimately enjoyed it once I got over the initial discomfort.”

“Mm. It certainly seems like you enjoyed yourself.” Strahd nods at the lines of seed coating his chest and abdomen—now also on Strahd's abdomen—and the tips of Rahadin's ears grow hot. 

His master could be surprisingly obscene at times despite his decorous appearance, he was finding. Was he like this with other partners? He could not imagine him being so salacious around a woman. 

Strahd's comments make the dusk elf all the more aware of just how much he needs to bathe. (And attempt to clean his most intimate areas and gods, he hasn't the faintest idea of how he is supposed to do that.)

Strahd offers him a hand. He grudgingly takes it because he does not trust his trembling legs to hold him at the moment when he hops down off of his desk. Rather than releasing his hand, however, Strahd gently grazes his lips across his knuckles. “No more secrets from me. Understood?” Despite the tender gesture, the tone of his voice is serious.

That was easier said than done. It was not as if his master understood just how exhausted he was after unwillingly baring his heart. Rahadin smiles wryly. “As if I have a choice—what with the way you pry into places you are not wanted.”

“I would not have to _pry_ if you simply opened up to me. Besides, I would say some good came of it, wouldn't you? We reached a mutual understanding and benefited in the end.”

That was still to be seen. It was hard to determine how his revelation would impact their relationship. Rahadin valued his work above all else and he did not know how he would cope should something interfere with their mutual trust. Ideally, nothing would change between them. They could continue working together whilst also indulging in one another’s company on the occasion. He hoped that that would be enough to quell whatever invasive emotions decided to rear their ugly heads. 

“Again I ask: may I join you for that bath?”

“I suppose so, as long as you do not attempt to copulate with me again this evening.” says Rahadin with a small chuckle.

“I make no guarantees.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist: the next adventuring party actually finds the page about Rahadin in the Tome of Strahd


End file.
